


Half Empty in Hong Kong

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Erotica, F/M, Heterosexual Sex, Post-War, Romance, The Quidditch Pitch: Erotic Couplings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-01
Updated: 2008-04-01
Packaged: 2018-10-27 16:14:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10812480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Two lost souls meet on the other side of the world.





	Half Empty in Hong Kong

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).
> 
> **Author's notes:**
> 
> **Written for[](http://community.livejournal.com/wizard_love/profile)[ **wizard_love**](http://community.livejournal.com/wizard_love/)**
> 
> Character death mentioned 

Parvati Patil didn’t take holidays, (not real ones) and this particular trip was no exception. Sure, the locale was exotic and the people were foreign and colourful, and the hotel room was luxurious enough. But her free hours were not spent sightseeing or relaxing by the pool. She’d probably visited thirty fabric merchants already and she’d only been here for two days. Her dinner last night had been room service, eaten in front of the expansive window in her room surrounded by sketches. The view of the harbor was as good as any in Hong Kong, and the food had been excellent (as had the three quarters of a bottle of plum wine she’d consumed before passing out.) She doubted anyone in the hotel had enjoyed a more pleasant and peaceful dinner. Company might have been nice, she supposed, but she didn’t mind her own company as much as she had at school.

And anyway, if she had wanted company, a visit to the lobby bar would have been easy enough. A bit of conversation, increasingly blatant flirtation, a question asked and answered and a brief goodbye in the morning. Not all that difficult, really. She wasn’t vain, nor was she completely unaware of what her face and body did to people. It wasn’t difficult to find a bit of companionship, though extraction did not always go as smoothly as she liked.

She’d stopped seeking someone to touch her heart years before. It was just easier this way. Sometimes not worth the bother of physical release, but definitely easier this way.

Her visit to the local Wizarding market was certainly not a search for souvenirs. It was a hope for inspiration more than anything: a bangle that would set off a robe, beautifully coloured stones that would make interesting buttons. She was also searching for a rare tea for her sister, as a thank you for all her hard work.

There was a large section of the Wizarding market dedicated to herbs, medicines, and local ingredients for potions, and Parvati reluctantly entered it, her nose wrinkling at the pungent aromas.

It was there that she found herself doing a double take at a shock of bright red hair among all the shining black. She might have kept on walking—after all, red hair did not necessarily guarantee one of her old house-mates, but seeing that hair had made her smile, the first genuine smile she’d had since she arrived on this island.

How could she resist stopping to take a closer look?

I _s that…?_ She’d never had trouble telling the twins apart, though it stuck her anew that it was a non-issue these days. She’d have known that face anywhere, though—the quieter of the two—some said the kinder one. It was difficult to see him without his trademark grin or a laugh on his face. The lines that had been etched on it told her that he hadn’t really smiled much in the years since she’d seen him.

“George Weasley, is that you?”

He looked up, a little wary at first, and then his smile grew broad and genuine. “Hello, Parvati. It’s been a while, hadn’t it?”

She’d never questioned why he always knew who she was; it was simply how it had always been, though she suspected some sort of twin telepathy rather than a genuine interest in her as a person. They’d never been all that close, but there was something about running into someone you’d known at school thousands of miles from home that made hugging not only acceptable, but also inevitable. She exhaled as his arms closed about her. He had a warm, familiar scent and his shoulders felt solid and comforting under her hands. He pulled away and grinned, making a noise that (from anyone else) might have been considered a laugh, but it was nothing at all like the ones she remembered; rich and hearty and completely infectious.

“Fancy meeting you here,” they both said at once, and she laughed, sliding her hand down his arm and feeling it drop away. “I’m here on business,” she explained, and he nodded as she continued. “A conference, actually, for British wizarding businesses that are in trade with the East- ”

“East Asian Trade Federation,” he finished.

“Me, too. Reckon I’ll be seeing you later tonight, then,” he said, and she nodded, suddenly looking forward with anticipation to the previously dreaded dinner cruise. They spoke for only a few moments more, and she made her way over to the tea section with a smile on her face.

~~~~~~~~~

Parvati generally stood out in a room, and today was no exception. Where most of the other attendees of the British persuasion wore basic black, she wore robes of deep orange: sleek and somewhat conservative in the front and plunging below her waist in the rear. She was aware that she was a walking advertisement for her designs and there was always pressure to do them justice. There was something extra in tonight’s preparations, though, for tonight—in addition to all the networking and banal pleasantries—there was the possibility of conversation and laughter with someone she genuinely liked. When she stepped onto the boat, her step was lighter than it had been since she’d stepped out of the Portkey office and onto the island.

Sadly, dinner itself was a painful experience. She’d been seated next to an antiques dealer with wandering hands and an inflated sense of self-worth on one hand and the male half of a simpering couple on the other. The speeches given were about as interesting as Binns on a bad day, and Parvati began to wonder if this was a wasted trip. However, things began to turn around for the better when one of the honorees was revealed to be none other than George Weasley, who stepped onto the stage and graciously accepted the award, though Parvati suspected (given the complete absence of his former exuberance) he’d rather have been in the middle of a double Potions Class.

He wasn’t completely eloquent—maybe there was a reason Fred had always been the more vocal of the pair—but Parvati’s applause was genuine. He was affable and succinct and even managed to get a good joke or two in that had everybody in the room (but him) laughing.

She’d known that the twins’ small joke shop had expanded in leaps and bounds over the years, of course, but she hadn’t realized until she looked around the room how much it meant to people, and all over the world at that.

George gave a lot of the credit to Ron, and the only reference he made to Fred was when he said, “When my brother and I imagined this as kids…”

When the ceremony finally closed and people began moving around the room, well-wishers had George completely surrounded, and Parvati decided to look for him later. Instead, she made her way outside to the deck and leaned over the railing, enjoying the bright lights across the bay and the cool breeze that blew off the water and eased the humidity.

Some time later, she heard the door to the dining room open, and somehow she knew it would be George. He was looking a bit drained, but he was smiling and holding a glass of champagne in each hand.

“Congratulations,” she said, and he made a small bow, handing her a glass.

“Have they got you playing waiter, too?” she asked, trying to coax a genuine grin from him.

“Comes with the award,” he said. “Or at least that’s how I tipped the scales in my favour. I’ll be doing the dishes, later, too. You know I was never above a bit of cheating if it meant winning.”

Parvati remembered his spectacular white beard and laughed.

“Of course, I couldn’t quite bribe them to get a seat at your table,” he added, and she felt her cheeks heating up as she answered.

“Wish you had, actually. My dinner partner was a bit…gropey.” She shuddered exaggeratedly, and then raised an eyebrow as she looked at him. It was strange to see him dressed up, but it suited him. “You seemed to be a big hit in there. I looked for you, but I wasn’t willing to battle the crowd. Seemed like the Gryffindor common room all over again.”

“I don’t get out much,” he said. “And when I do… a bit of success and everyone wants something from you. It gets old fast. Actually, Ron and Hermione sort of forced the issue, or I never would have come at all. They said I was becoming a bit of a hermit—go figure.”

She nodded sympathetically, taking another sip of her wine. “I’m told I’m a workaholic, whatever that is. Padma and Lavender pushed me here, too. Said I’m turning into a bit of a bitch, actually. They thought a change of scenery, and all that-”

“Well,” he said, gesturing out at the bay, “This certainly is that. How is Lavender, anyway?”

She wondered if he was just asking to be social or if he’d heard about what happened to her and was asking about that specifically. “Oh, she’s fine. We started our dress shop together, but once she got pregnant the first time, she became something of a silent partner.” He seemed interested enough, so she continued, explaining, “She married one of Seamus’ cousins, his name is Brian. They’re on their third kid and constantly trying to set me up with one mad Irishman or another.”

“And your sister?” he asked.

“She works with me. Takes care of the business end so that I can concentrate on design. She’s actually quite brilliant at it. Dating Adrian Pucey, too, and let me tell you, I’m not looking forward to having a snake in the family. Still, I have to admit he makes her happy.”

She asked about his family and he told her of Ron’s marriage, his oldest brother’s daughter and Ginny’s Quidditch career, though Parvati was already well aware of that.

This might have been the ideal time to bring up Fred and what happened, but Parvati didn’t have the nerve. “And Lee Jordan?” she asked. “Are you still friends?”

A flash of pain crossed George’s face at that, and he drained his drink. “He’s—we don’t see him all that much. He’s working with Minister Shacklebolt and doing well, I hear.”

“I always wondered,” Parvati said, and something vague from the past floated back into her consciousness, making her blurt out, “Are you, I mean were you, ever…you and Lee?”

He seemed taken aback at the question, and Parvati wanted to kick herself for committing a horrible faux pas. She really needed to get out more, if only to hone her social skills. “Not that I thought you were, I mean…”

But George only shook his head, laughing softly. “Not a bad guess, actually. But it was Fred, not me. He loved Fred, I mean, and I didn’t see it until after…well…I suspect it hurts too much to see me.”

“Oh!” Parvati exclaimed, “That must have been awful. For both of you.”

“He tried,” George said. “But it got to be too much.

“So…er, did he and Fred ever-”

“I don’t know. Isn’t that pathetic? I used to wonder, sometimes.” George gave an odd little laugh, shrugging and shifting on his feet. “You’d think by looking at us that we’d have known everything about each other, but _now_ …I mean, we were on the run, and they were doing those wireless programmes, and…I don’t know. Never thought to ask until it was too late.”

Parvati reached out to touch his shoulder. “Don’t feel badly,” she said. “I think my sister would be shocked if she knew some of the things I’ve kept from her. Not that I think she’d disapprove, but…I like to think there are some parts of my life that are just for me, you know?”

“Yeah,” he said, giving a half nod.

She took the chance she’d been afraid to take before. “I’m…I’m more sorry than I can say, George. I never got a chance to tell you back then. Family and friends always surrounded you, and I meant to write, but heavens, you didn’t know me all that well, and what could I possibly say that others hadn’t? But still, I felt terrible, maybe even more than some because-“

“You understood, I imagine,” he said softly, looking away from her and onto the deck.

“Yes,” she said. “I _ached_ for you, George.” _Stupid,_ she thought, because who could possibly have ached more than him and perhaps his mother?

“You know, it’s funny,” he finally said. “People got out of the habit of talking about him. It’s probably my fault, because I must have flinched or something when they said his name, but after a while—it’s almost as if they’ve erased him. I bring him up and people change the subject, or else they’re so clearly uncomfortable, that I change the subject. You’re the first person in a long, long time to want to talk about him.”

Parvati reached out again and stroked his arm gently. It was hard to read his expression in the shadows of the deck, but his words gave her the courage to go on. “The first night I spent apart from Padma was when I was eleven. We’d never been separated for more than an hour in our entire lives. I felt as if half of me was missing and I don’t think I got more than an hour’s sleep. I was so certain she was hurt or something, and that was why I couldn’t feel her. The next day she was waiting outside the Great Hall. We just sort of clung to each other, bawling. But as the days went on, she stopped running to me first thing, and it hurt that she didn’t seem to need me as much as I needed her. That’s when I started transferring some of that need to Lavender. It wasn’t until later that I realized that Padma was trying to cauterize the wound. She was always more clever than me, more practical. She must have known that we’d have to learn to live without each other some day, and just figured the earlier the better. But you two…”

“Yeah,” George said. “Not quite done bleeding yet. Never wanted to learn to live without him. Maybe we knew deep down that our time was limited or maybe we planned on marrying a couple of understanding girls who wouldn’t mind us living next door to each other forever.”

Parvati laughed softly at the image he painted. “I used to envy you two, you know? You were the way my sister and I were when we were kids. I’d missed that.”

“And I used to watch you two doing your own things and wonder how you managed it. Having identities of your own, lives of your own, friends of your own. I reckoned that took more bravery than I had, to you know— _embrace_ that separation. Not that I didn’t like the way that Fred and I were…” He seemed to have said all he wanted to on the subject, because he abruptly set his glass down and offered his arm, saying, “Come on, let’s look around a bit.”

She took his arm readily, dropping her empty glass onto a handy deck chair. They made a slow circuit of the deck in silence for a while, and she wondered what he was thinking.

Apparently he was still thinking about the bond he’d had with his brother “I wonder, how it is with other people, sometimes,” he said. “You know, the way they go on when they meet their…the person they love. My mum and dad are always going on about soul mates, and I’ve seen it firsthand, with my baby brother and his wife, of all people, and my parents. I don’t know if yours are the same way, but it’s like they can look at each other and communicate without saying anything. The way that everything goes from ‘I’ to ‘we.’ The way they can’t seem to spend time apart without being miserable. People have told me I’ll feel better when I find something like that, but I just don’t see it happening. Not that I’ve tried all that hard.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Parvati admitted. “Never felt anything as strong as what I feel for Padma, or even Lavender. I’ve thought I had it, once or twice, but once the…you know…hormones and such calm down a bit—for the most part, I’ve not met someone who doesn’t drive me batty after a few weeks, if that. I suppose we’re the sort of people who are married to their work, right?”

“Never thought I’d be that bloke,” George said. “That was Percy’s job. But maybe I’m not built that way after all, or maybe that part of me doesn’t work anymore.”

“Maybe,” Parvati agreed, thinking that more likely the loss of his brother made forming connections with people terrifying. It was certainly understandable. Leaning a bit closer, she let him lead and looked around. Through the windows, they could appreciate the candle-lit atmosphere of the party without any of the bothersome attendees, and she considered that a bonus. They heard the music through a filter, and watched the dancers drift by as if they were on one of those Muggle televisions—clear enough, but two-dimensional, and having very little to do with them. At one point, they passed another set of strollers and then an amorously inclined young couple sharing a deck chair and having a bit of a snog. It was all part of the scenery, and Parvati found it all quite lovely. They were surrounded by water, apparently disconnected with the outside world.

In any other circumstances, a good-looking man taking her for a walk in the moonlight might have promised a bit of romance, or possibly even an invitation back to his hotel room, but Parvati thought that after the sorts of things they’d been talking about, romance seemed to be sort of a moot point. Come to think of it, she preferred this sort of thing. They were hardly even friends, but their lives had so many connecting points that he almost felt like part of her family.

They’d spoken of their difficulty in making connections, but the sad fact was that she had felt more from a half-hours’ conversation with him than she had on any of the dozens of dates she’d been on since she left school. “I’m really glad you were here tonight, George,” she said honestly.

“Yeah,” he said, meeting her eyes briefly and then looking away, making her wonder if he was thinking some of the same things. She had a sudden impulse to kiss him and see how he would react, but surely after speaking about soul mates and the like, any impulsive overture she made would have been turned into something else, something calculated.

The trouble was that once she’d begun thinking along those lines, the air seemed to thicken between them. She suddenly felt awkward, wondering if she ought to just leave; just excuse herself and say she had to get back to her table or talk to a supplier. But she didn’t really want to, did she?

And anyway, when had she ever been the sort of girl to attach so much importance to this sort of thing? The worst he could do was reject her, right? And if he didn’t, it didn’t necessarily have to change anything. She was going on to China the next day, and who knew what he was doing? By the time they ever met again, they could write it off as one of those things one did under the influence of wine and moonlight in foreign countries.

Taking another sidelong glance at him, she’d nearly made up her mind to go for it. The deck was deserted on this end of the boat. She’d just kiss him and see what happened. So what if her hands were shaking and her heart was pounding? It was a simple case of increased adrenaline and lust—no more or less than usual, right?

She stopped walking, and he stopped and looked at her, and it seemed as if he’d been expecting her to do it. Then she licked her lips and his eyes seemed to darken as he watched. She stepped forward as if compelled to do so. George froze in place but didn’t back away. Emboldened, she pressed her lips to his and his mouth dropped open—whether from surprise or invitation she wasn’t sure.

But _damn_ if he didn’t feel brilliant against her—his body solid and unyielding and his mouth soft and moist and warm. She twined her arms around his neck, finally getting to touch the hair that had so fascinated her in her school years, finding that it slid through her fingers like fine silken thread.

George’s response quite took her breath away—he gathered her up into his arms and slanted his mouth against hers hungrily—more of a demand than a request. She found herself pressed against the cold, hard railing while his warm hands slid up and down her exposed back and set her skin on fire.

She certainly hadn’t expected it to be like that—she’d forgotten about George’s intensity, remembering his affability instead. _This_ was the George who’d played Quidditch with brutal focus; he bore little resemblance to the sweet George who’d passed her the breadbasket with a friendly wink and given her her first taste of Firewhisky, patting her back sympathetically as she choked.

Nor was this anything like any of the other men she’d kissed—she was more used to a slow, measured seduction, used to men who treated her as if she were delicate instrument. This was more of an assault, and oddly enough, she rather liked it. Quite a bit, actually. In fact, she wondered how she was going to manage the wait until they could get back to her hotel room. She’d never Apparated across water, but it was beginning to seem like an acceptable risk.

She pulled her mouth away to catch her breath and clear her head, but that only got him started on her neck. Throwing her head back to give him better access, she closed her eyes and heard the water rushing beneath her. It was surreal, it seemed as if George was doing his best to push her through the railing and into the water, and yet she clung to him, trusting him to keep her safe and reveling in the danger at the same time. One of the hands that had been stroking her spine slipped between the rails to cup her bottom, his callused fingers catching on the delicate material. Was it odd that she didn’t care?

Cursing the inconvenience of wizard’s robes, Parvati reached between them to the buttons of his robe, but her fingers didn’t appear to be working properly. She could sense the shape of his chest and stomach, but she couldn’t get to his skin, and she was ready to gnash her teeth with frustration.

He wasn’t having much luck either: the only skin he could really touch was her back, but he reached around to cup her breast with his other hand. The design of the dress had negated the possibility of a bra, and his thumb circled her nipple through the thin silk, making her moan, making her arch back further on the rail. Somehow, he was putting terribly wicked ideas in her head.

He kissed his way back up to her ear, pulling her back toward him and using his tongue to trace a circle around it. She spoke his name on a sigh and he pulled away, looking directly into her eyes. “I don’t think I can wait,” he said, pressing against her—as hard as a stone and with something wild in his eyes that sent all of her blood to the center of her body. But what was he asking for? _Here? Now?_

She looked around, hearing nothing but her own heart pounding in her ears and his ragged breathing. This was a terrible idea, she did business with many of these people, and if they were caught…

He remained still, and she found she’d temporarily forgotten how to speak. She wanted his mouth back on her fairly desperately, she wanted those hot, rough hands on her skin, she wanted…

“There’s a slit up the back,” she said, and had the satisfaction of seeing his mouth drop at her words. _Not many people,_ she thought, _could brag that they’d rendered George Weasley speechless._ Kissing him again, she then turned slowly toward the railing, pressing back against him and bracing her hands on the cold metal. He fit nicely against her arse, and one nudge from her seemed to snap him back into reality. His hands went to her hips automatically, it seemed, his fingers tracing and then digging into her hipbones and his body pressed her even closer the rail. She leaned back to rest her head against his shoulder, and his mouth found its way to her neck again.

He started doing miraculous things with his lips and tongue as his hand took possession of her breast again, a little rougher this time, pinching at her nipple through the silk. When he removed the hand to fumble at his own robes, she moaned at the loss, but didn’t have to wait for long to feel his hands on her again, sliding from breast to hip and around to her arse, inching the silk of her skirt up a bit at a time until he encountered bare skin. She could feel the crisp hairs on his legs tickling the back of her thighs; his open robes surrounded both of them. She felt his hand lifting her skirt, bunching it up on her waist, reaching around her thigh to touch her through her knickers. She felt and heard his exhalation against her ear as she whimpered at the touch, desperate for more.

When his fingers ventured beneath the lace, she was ridiculously wet; she might have been embarrassed if it hadn’t sent him into frenzy. Apparently he really couldn’t wait; he couldn’t be bothered with taking her knickers off, simply pushed them aside, opening her with trembling fingers and then sliding inside her with such force she swore she saw stars.

He filled her, he stroked her with his fingers; he panted into her ear, swearing, praising her body, grunting like an animal, begging her to let go and holding her up as she fell apart in his arms. Still pulsing around him, she leaned forward, and he went wild. She wasn’t sure if it went on for thirty seconds or three days, the only thing that mattered was the friction between their bodies. He came with a ragged shout; it seemed to come from someplace primal inside him, leaving him weak and visibly shaken.

As she was trying to catch her breath they heard voices approaching, and the panic that had her wondering what she had gotten herself into gave way to the panic that had her terrified they would get caught. She moved aside to make herself presentable, unable to look him in the eye. What on earth must he think of her?

As soon as the strollers passed, he moved to touch her, but she pulled away, ashamed of her behavior. It had been madness, really, and she ought to have known better. “I…er…that was…wow. I don’t normally…I mean… _crap”_

What was she trying to say, anyway? She was the one who started things, she was the one who suggested that he…oh, for heaven’s sake, he took her in a public place, a quick fuck against a railing, and there was no one to blame but herself. She’d practically begged for it. All well and good for some stranger in a lobby bar, but this was George, and she liked him, and now he would think she was a…

She risked a look at him, but George’s eyes were dark and unreadable.

“Yeah, so…I should…the bathroom...clean up,” Parvati said, and left before he could make an objection. She didn’t come out until the boat had docked, and from there Apparated to her hotel room. In her mind, she knew that finding her among the thousands of hotel rooms in the city was impossible, but that didn’t stop her from wishing he would. She’d never felt so humiliated in her life.

The next day, she went on to China, and he went on to Merlin knows where, and she prayed that the next time they met, they could write it off as a moment of madness, just one of those things.

It was a good plan; the best she could come up with under the circumstances. The only trouble was that she was finding it impossible to forget. She found herself constantly replaying the evening in her mind and wishing she’d done things differently. But it was late at night when she stared up at the ceiling of her flat and remembered the way his hands felt on her that was the worst. She physically ached for him, and found it a bit ironic after everything they’d talked about. Why couldn’t she have left it as a perfectly lovely conversation?

She wasn’t sleeping well, she hadn’t come up with a decent design in weeks, and Lavender commented that she seemed to have become more of a bitch than before she left. She didn’t have the inclination to defend herself. And anyway, what were best friends for if not to point out the truth? She didn’t even have the heart to explain what had happened. Lavender, the self proclaimed queen of public displays of affection, would never have behaved so irresponsibly.

A month later, she was still waiting for it to pass. Time had to help eventually, but instead of getting better, it seemed to be getting worse. And worse, and worse and worse until the day he walked into her store, looking as though he’d been fighting a losing battle with a Blast-ended Skrewt, looking contrite and hopeful at the same time.

Parvati didn’t need to think it over; all she could do was to launch herself into his arms, and suddenly, that gaping wound that had been bleeding for weeks seemed to close up. And judging by the joy and relief on his face and the way that his arms were threatening to crush the air from her lungs, he was well on his way to feeling whole again too.

As far as Parvati was concerned, individuality was all well and good, but there was to nothing quite like being a perfectly matched set.


End file.
